


Subtitles Off

by ChickadeeChick



Series: Subtitles [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickadeeChick/pseuds/ChickadeeChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafa and Roger are blissfully happy... and completely oblivious to the men that are pining for them.  What happens when two players suffering from unrequited love meet?  A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtitles Off

**Author's Note:**

> Because third wheels need love too.

It was impossible to look away.  No matter how hard Stan tried it wasn’t longer than 1 minute 4 seconds before he glanced back to the pair in the dark booth near the back of the bar.  Yes, he had timed it.  
  
They looked… happy.    
  
Stan lifted his drink without moving his eyes, but when no liquid came to his lips he finally looked down to frown into the glass.  He signaled to the bartender for another.  
  
Stan was new at this, so he wasn’t sure how many drinks he would need to make it all OK.  A familiar laugh and his eyes slid from the bartender back to the booth.    
  
Roger’s fingers brushed Rafa’s on top of the table.  Below the table Stan could see their knees and calves pressed side-to-side.    
  
Stan heard the bartender approach and refill his tumbler of liquor, and he blindly grabbed for it, but was halted with a delicate touch to his wrist.  He looked up to see the pretty bartender holding a shot glass of tequila with a lime wedge settled across the top.  
  
“From him.”  She motioned over Stan’s shoulder to a man sitting at a small table, alone.  
  
Stan craned his neck, squinted, and proceeded to look thoroughly confused.  Was that Feliciano Lopez?  
  
The Spaniard raised his own shot glass and nodded towards the line of booths at the back of the bar.  Following the motion, Stan’s eyes landed right back on the object of his own attentions.  Brows furrowed, he looked back to the lone Spaniard.  Back to Roger and Rafa.  Back to Feliciano.  Then it hit him.    
  
So Stan wasn’t the only person unhappy with recent developments between the world number one and number two.  
  
Not really able to bring himself to smile in acknowledgment, Stan just nodded.  Feliciano looked about as thrilled with life as Stan felt.  Stan raised his glass and took the shot of tequila with the Spaniard, wincing slightly and reaching immediately for the lime.  Feliciano nodded and returned to “reading” his newspaper.  
  
An hour later Stan gave up, and not only because the bartender refused him more liquor, or so he told himself.  Leaving the happy couple behind, he wobbled to the elevators and didn’t notice the person following him until a hand reached out to stop the elevator doors from closing.  And before Stan could focus enough to figure out who it might be, he was slammed against the elevator wall and Feliciano Lopez was pressing his tan forearm across Stan’s chest.  
  
“Que?” Was all Stan could get out before warm, pliant lips were pressed to his.    
  
Shocked still, Stan just stared wide-eyed as Feliciano pulled away from this kiss, their bodies still precariously close.  Stan was pretty sure that he hadn’t misinterpreted that shot of tequila, but it was a little fuzzy in his memory. Had it not been camaraderie?  Not that he could ask about it – Stan didn’t know any Spanish, and even if he did, he was too drunk to speak it.    
  
But he was quite aware that the gorgeous Spaniard – strike that, the gorgeous and eager Spaniard – leaning into him was mumbling something incomprehensible in Spanish and was about to walk away.  
  
Stan was pretty sure that things like this only happened to people in movies… and bad gay porn movies at that.  And this film didn’t even have subtitles to help him understand what little plot existed.  
  
Blushing furiously, Feliciano stepped backwards, muttering furiously in Spanish and looking at his shoes.  But Feliciano glanced upwards once more and met the Swiss’s still wide-eyed expression, and Stan felt like he was punched in the gut.  He recognized those emotions in the Spaniard’s hazel eyes.  Desperation.  Need.  Pain.  Stan had seen that same muddled mixture of emotions in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror just that morning.  Stan’s gaze slipped to the dial above the elevator doors – three floors to go.  
  
It was now or never.  
  
Stan launched forward, framing the Spaniard’s face with his hands and pressing his lips to the other man’s.  Feliciano gasped and stumbled a step backwards, his back hitting the wall with a thud.    
  
The Spaniard was barely able to reciprocate before the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.   Feliciano pushed and pulled, dragging the younger Swiss down the hall.  He stopped, disoriented, as he realized they were on Stan’s floor, but the Swiss was quick to take the lead and pulled Feliciano towards his room.  Luckily it wasn’t far and the pair tumbled into Stan’s room, the door closing behind them as the Spaniard impatiently pushed Stan up against the wall, resuming the kiss from the elevator.  
  
Stan let his head drop back as Feliciano’s lips traveled downward.  A nip and a suck at just the right spot and the Swiss couldn’t stop a breathless whisper of “Feliciano” escaping his lips.  
  
The Spaniard froze, straightening himself up to look at his partner with a measuring stare.  Then he let a small smile curl his lips.  “Feli,” he corrected softly, letting his nose brush the Swiss’s.    
  
Stan couldn’t help but grin.  “Stan,” he responded, wondering absently if this really was the right time for introductions.    
  
“Hmmm,” Feliciano hummed, nuzzling Stan’s jaw, his neck.  “Stan.”  He kissed the skin of Stan’s neck and whispered again, “Stan.”    
  
The Swiss let his head roll back against the wall and let out a little moan.  Who knew that his own name sounded so good with a Spanish accent?    
  
Stan’s hands went to Feli’s hips as he arched his own body, pressing them together.  At the contact Feli bit down onto his collarbone, causing Stan to arch and press their hips together even harder.  Feli hummed his appreciation at the contact as he started to pull up Stan’s shirt.    
  
At the same time they both backed away from the wall and apart from each other, side-stepping further into the room as clothes were discarded in little piles.    
  
Feli backed Stan onto the bed, a grin on his lips, his expression playful.  He tugged off Stan’s boxers, his own already discarded, and lightly ran long fingers up the sides of Swiss’s paler body.  Despite the situation, Stan couldn’t help but twitch away a little, stifling a giggle at the tickling touches.  Feli cocked his head to the side at the sound of Stan’s giggles, grin widening as a single eyebrow arched upward.  He repeated the motions and Stan bit his lip as he tried not to laugh.  Feli repeated the motions again, a more determined look on his face.  Stan shook his head, reaching to cover his sides with his own hands as he burst into laughter and a breathless series of “Non, non.”  Feli let out a chuckle himself and tried to worm his way around Stan’s protests.    
  
The pair wrestled for a few moments, Stan finally grabbing Feli’s wrists in an effort to immobilize his questing hands, and suddenly Stan was straddling the Spaniard’s waist, pinning now-still hands above Feli’s mussed hair.  
  
Both panting softly, Stan looked down at his captive, their eyes meeting as their expressions became more serious.  Stan licked his lips and watched Feli’s eyes immediately follow the motion.  It felt good to be able to draw the Spaniard’s attention like that and Stan’s desire for the man below him burned hot in his belly.  
  
Stan released his grip on Feli’s wrists and slid his hands down the length of those tan arms, over the shoulders and onto the smooth chest, Feli all but purring under him.  Stan slid his body downwards too, his legs stretching out against Feli’s and their cocks finally rubbing against one another.  They both hissed at the contact, stimulating but teasing.  
  
Feeling nipples harden against his palms, Stan slid his hands back upwards, framing Feli’s face with his hands for the second time that night.  This kiss was slower, each player exploring new territory leisurely – they were both out of the tournament already so there was no reason to rush, no practice to get to the next day, no matches to warm up for.  Stan was never so happy he had lost in the early rounds.  
  
Feli arched up below him, grabbing at Stan’s hips.  Stan moaned, leaving the kiss, and starting to slide away from his partner.  Feli shot up onto his elbows as Stan got off the bed, a worried expression flashing on his face for a moment before he covered it with a curious look.  Stan wondered if he would have seen that worry had Feli not had at least as much to drink as Stan had.  With a smile Stan held up one finger and made his way into the bathroom, making more noise than was necessary to rummage through his bag and get condoms and lube.    
  
He nearly dropped the two items when he came back into the room.  The Spaniard was sprawled out on his bed, head and body angled to the side slightly so he could watch for Stan to come out of the bathroom.  One hand was lying open on his stomach; the other was stroking his cock lazily.  Stan swallowed hard.  
  
Feli smiled, saying something in Spanish that Stan couldn’t really understand, but he moved back onto the bed, kissing the Spaniard languidly and dropping the supplies somewhere up near the pillows.  Feli traced the length of Stan’s arm upwards and wrapped his hand around the bottle of lubricant, taking it for himself.  
  
Concentrating on Feli’s lips instead of his hands, Stan gasped as he felt slick fingers curl over his ass and between his cheeks.  Stan was surprised at the raw need that course through him; he had spent so much time just watching Roger recently that he hadn’t done anything for himself.  Throwing caution to the wind, Stan pushed back roughly and suddenly impaled himself on Feli’s slowly exploring fingers.    
  
“Dios mio...” Feli groaned as he watched the Swiss fuck himself on his fingers.  It was the most erotic thing Feli had seen in a long time.  He inserted another finger and Stan let out a gorgeous moan, bucking hard.  Stan’s body was arched backward now, head thrown back, nails dragging down the Spaniard’s chest and leaving red trails in their wake.    
  
Feli couldn’t wait anymore, and he was rather past caring if Stan was stretched enough for it.  He removed his fingers and Stan whimpered, almost making Feli feel remorse.  It took a moment to roll the condom on, but the Swiss’s sweet noises started again as Feli positioned his cock and started pulling Stan down on top of him.  
  
Stan felt his eyes roll back into his head for a moment as something much larger than Feli’s fingers finally penetrated him.  So good.  How had he been so distracted, so engulfed in his own misery, that he forgot about _this_?    
  
He didn’t have time to dwell on it though because he was suddenly levered to one side, Feli rolling over and on top of him and thrusting hard.  Mouths crashed together hard, no smooth transition between what had been sensual and what was now bordering on violent.  
  
It seemed as if Feli had suddenly lost control, a dam had broken, a cage door opened and that cat that had been purring under Stan moments before was now a raging lion, growling into the Swiss’s ear with every deep thrust.  Stan was pushing back as be could, legs wrapped around Feli’s hips.  He could feel his orgasm coming, much sooner than he wanted, but Stan wasn’t in control of his body enough to do anything about it.  He realized he was moaning, breathless, raspy “oui”s leaving his lips and accenting Feli’s rhythm.  
  
Panting, Feli licked at the sweat on Stan’s neck, under Stan’s ear.  He wasn’t sure where this current surge of power-hungry desire had come from, but Feli wasn’t in the mood to argue with himself.  He rarely felt so alive.    
  
Stan came beneath Feli then, his moans boarding on screams as he clenched down on the Spaniard’s cock.  It was too much and Feli came, muffling his own noises into the curve of Stan’s neck.  They collapsed onto the bed, taking heaving breaths as they looked at each other.  
  
Stan was the first to move, running fingers along the side of Feli’s cheek and craning forward to kiss his forehead, his lips.  He smiled, close enough that their noses were touching.  “Merci.”  It was barely above a whisper.  
  
Feli smiled back and kissed Stan with a bit more force, deeper.  “De nada.”    
  
~**~  
  
Stan wasn’t sure when they fell asleep, but he remembered Feli still being there when he did.  Nevertheless, he wasn’t completely surprised when the other side of the bed was empty in the morning.  Not that that fact stopped the disappointment from bubbling up.  Last night had been…  
  
Stan rolled over and looked at the clock.  Eleven thirty in the morning.  He was pretty sure that he hadn’t slept that late ever.    
  
A click and the bathroom door opened, steam rolling out, and Feliciano turned the corner rubbing his hair with a towel.  He was dressed in fresh clothes that were his own so Stan could only assume that he had gone back to his own room, gotten clothing, and returned to shower in Stan’s room.  The Swiss couldn’t help but smile and Feli smiled back.  “Buenos dias.”  
  
“Bonjour.”  Stan whispered as Feli crawled over him on the bed, kissing him soundly.  
  
Feli went into a long line of Spanish, obviously feeling that he needed to explain something even though Stan could only catch a few words.  Something about Rafa… and food?  He wasn’t sure.  Stan nodded, keeping eye contact with Feli.  
  
Feli ruffled Stan’s hair, saying something else in Spanish, before he waved goodbye and left.  
  
Stan fell back onto the bed.  He had almost no idea what had just happened, but Feli hadn’t just disappeared… and that was good enough for the moment.  
  
~**~  
  
As Feli sat down across from him at lunch, Rafa noted that his friend had not looked so happy in many months.  He said as much and Feli just laughed, shaking his head and not meeting Rafa’s eyes as he did when he knew something Rafa did not.  
  
“Did you bring that French dictionary you have with you?”  Feli asked.  Rafa had bought the book at his first Roland Garros and Feli knew that he had not attended the tournament without it since.   
  
“Yeah, it is in my room.”  Rafa answered after he swallowed a mouthful of pasta.    
  
“Can I borrow it?”  Feli was looking at Rafa, but he seemed to be distracted, his mind elsewhere.  
  
Rafa took a sip of water.  “Of course you can.  What do you-”  
  
Feli stood, interrupting Rafa’s words.  “Thanks.”  He made as if he was going to leave, and then turned back to Rafa with a thoughtful expression.  “Oh, and give Roger my thanks, too.”  
  
Rafa was now thoroughly confused.  “What?  Why?  For?”  
  
Feli shook his head again and his smile widened.  “He was the one who asked you out first, yes?”  Rafa’s brow furrowed as he nodded.  Feli nodded. “Then he gets my thanks.  And if he wants to know why, tell him to ask Stan.”  
  
With a wave Feli left Rafa to his lunch, eager to get that dictionary.  He was going to need it.


End file.
